See the Stars
by ryuk-sempai
Summary: Trapped by the psychological aftermath of the tragic disaster at her wedding seven years ago, Hermione Granger chances upon Draco Malfoy in Canada and watches her life rapidly change directions. DHr.
1. Chapter 1

She tucks her legs in and keeps her chin down, a small ball in the plush leather loveseat. Her brow just barely visible from over her knees, she methodically surveys the room she is in, obsessively listing, sorting, categorizing, and analyzing what she sees.

Something to keep her broken mind working, she defends the activity vehemently. The saner part of her, however, protests, knowing the aberrant behavior to be dangerous to her mental health.

A ferocious downpour lashes persistently against the glass wall across from her, behind the other, vacant sofa. She shudders delicately as voices run through her head; soft and ominous, the touch of an absent lover.

_"Mione, love, why so silent? Come run away with me, and forget this forsaken hellhole. Your obligations are no more. No more...no more...no more...no m -_

"Stop it!" she shrieks in breathless panic, holding out her arms as if they were a shield. "Go away, go away, _please._.." Her voice fades to an unintelligible whimper, but laced with an obvious fear.

And then, almost mechanically, she stretches out her limbs, straightens her disheveled hair, composes her face, and folds herself back up again, arms encircling legs like the charmed vices used on particularly fidgety creatures being Transfigured.

She does not move as the door is suddenly opened, as the quiet, repetitive tap of footsteps make their way into the room, as, just meters away, a throat is loudly being cleared. Finally, it is a voice, sharp and familiar, that jolts her from her trance.

"Granger?"

Her head snaps up so quickly there is an audible crack. It takes a minute or so for her to register the face, and when she finally does, her shock fails to work its way into her voice. "Malfoy?" she manages in a dull monotone.

He is different, but only just. His frame is slightly sturdier, and he carries himself straighter, but his ashen face has not changed. His eyes, perfect spheres of dusted granite, are as guarded as they always were, but they are glazed over with something new, different, and heavy.

"I didn't know if it was really you," he begins awkwardly,"when I saw your name in the appointment book. A prank, maybe." He slowly lowers himself into the opposite seat. Clad in a long, dark suit jacket that pays homage to the wizarding robes from Hogwarts, the elegant material flows gracefully along with his movements.

He chooses his next words carefully. "What are you doing in Canada?"

"What are _you_?" Hermione retorts coldly. Clumsily, she tries to return to a normal position, but her worn-away boots skid noisily on the carpet.  
"Careful," Malfoy chides, a ghost of a smirk settling on his lips.

Hermione scowls in embarrassment, looking down at her lap. "I was sent here, if you must know. By somebody."

Draco nods, an almost imperceptible bob of his head. "I thought so. And did you come _here_ of your own accord?"

She snorts loudly. "What do you think?" She lets loose a long, irritated sigh. "The same somebody sent me here. To...whatever you've got here."

They fall into an uncomfortable silence. Hermione can almost feel it, clawing furiously at her fingers, heating her cheeks until her face is blotchy and hot with red. It continues relentlessly, until, having thought of something, Hermione frowns thoughtfully.

Draco raises a thin, golden eyebrow, reading her face. "You're wondering why I used an alias, yes?"

Nodding absently, she plucks a pamphlet from her jacket pocket. "_Dr. Seamus Bulstrode_," Hermione muses softly, flapping the pamphlet in his direction, followed by an amused chuckle. It is good-natured, but sharpened by some kind of subtle malice generally not associated with her. "I should have known."

"Yes, well. New life, new name." He stares at her pointedly. "My father is a convict, after all. My name has even appeared in Muggle newspapers. Why take chances?"

Cocking her head arrogantly, Hermione eyes Draco with suspicion in her eyes. "Malfoy, a psychiatrist. When did you find helping people a cause worthy of you?"

"Granger, the all-knowing, valiant, golden Gryffindor," Draco sneers venomously, clearly offended. "Why would you not think so little of me?"

"No," she protests, taken aback. "I was just wondering..."

"Mother and I moved to France, after the war," he interrupts evenly. "She didn't want me to go back to Hogwarts. It took some time, but she managed to enroll me in a prestigious, Ministry-run school there, specializing in wizarding psychology."

"_Girard's_," Hermione cuts in. "I've heard of it."

"A professor there thought I needed the experience, so he contacted a colleague staffing in an American Muggle university. I took a few courses there. Of course," he confesses unabashedly, "I was disgusted at first. But the Muggles are more intelligent than they tell us to be."

"Of course they are," Hermione snaps, remembering her own parents; the stories from relatives, praising how the two had excelled, shining with unprecedented confidence and brilliance, through dental school. You have their wits, her aunt once proudly told her.  
Retired now, they live in a modest apartment in Wales.

After the war, Hermione had located them in Sydney, wandering and helpless. Fortunately, a quick trip to St. Mungo's brought everything rushing back to them, but the guilt still remains, a hard and rocky boulder in the pit of her stomach. Hermione, crumbling and jobless since _the_ _incident_, continuously relies on them for financial support. It only contributes to the unpleasant mass of stone and shame, but she reasons to herself, _I have no other choice_.

Which, she knows, is far from the truth.

"I moved here," Malfoy continues, gesturing around him, "afterward. I treat both wizardkind and Muggles." He shrugs indifferently. "For the money, of course."

"But," Hermione says, ever the intellectual and curious despite herself, "the treatment? I mean, you've learned both the wizarding and Muggle forms of the science. What do you _do _to the patients?"

Draco's gaze is shrewd, yet, as always, demeaning. "It varies, Granger. I have my own treatments, but I don't waste an opportunity to use the traditional charms and spells practiced in wizarding psychiatry - only on the wizarding community," he assures. " L'Île-Dorval is rather small, and quaint; we don't keep many secrets. Muggles here know of us vaguely, but keep to themselves. That, in itself, is admirable -"

Hermione almost smiles. "That was praise...you're changing!"

He acknowledges this, nodding. "Haven't we all, after the war? Frankly, I don't know what to think. The prejudices seem to be falling away, but it only makes everything more confusing. I-I socialize with Muggles!" His eyebrows raise up below the fringe of his pale hair, as if he has just realized this. "A decade before, the idea would have been ludricous."

Draco stops short as he notices something below, near his feet. Piqued, he brandishes his wand from inside his coat and crouches, searching through the carpet.

"Damned bloody spiders!" he mutters, fingers combing through the fine threads. "A teenage witch from America magically altered their chromosomes or something - they're immune to extermination and Vanishing charms - there it is!" It is large, and scurries from under the seat and over his fingers. "Ah - _Avada kedavra_!"

The eerie green light lingers for a moment or two, then flashes away. Reciting a hasty Banishing Charm, the spider exits the room, flying, and Draco calmly returns to his seat.

Looking up, he finds Hermione completely bewildered. Her hands, shaking and clammy, clasp onto one another. Her eyes are misted over and distant, an unrecognizable color.  
"It's legal," Draco says defensively. "The spell, here. On insects, small rodents, pests in general."

"No," Hermione whispers, almost inaudibly, her words riding on her breath.  
"I know," he continues persistently, albeit more sympathetically. "The memories. I'm sorry - maybe I should ha -"

"No, its not that," she interjects, stronger and louder this time. But her voice is still full of shards of broken glass, weak and scattered and lost. "Spiders - he hated them. Ron."

She blinks rapidly, as if trying not to cry, and puts her face in her hands.

Draco's collected demeanor falls away, leaving his face a battlefield of contradicting emotions. "I heard about it," he says, so quietly that they can still hear the silence through the little holes in his voice. "I'm sorry."

Hermione's face slowly lifts. Her eyes are open, but they are empty, the bottom of a clear, glass bowl.

* * *

**A/N: **okay okay okay

so

this is my first story on fanfiction. and i realize everyone seems so ooc OHMYGOD I KNOW ITS KILLING ME and it just gets progressively worse because...well, i can't write in one sitting. i started this when i was 12 (well, i'm only 13 now, but still one year is a long time for me haha) and i keep on forgetting about what i wrote about earlier. and i'm too lazy to scroll back up and check ok sorry ugh. it was a stupid mobile interface.

AND THAT ALSO HAPPENS TO BE MY EXCUSE FOR MY COUNTLESS NUMBER OF TYPOS. god i haaaate typos. they are SERIOUSLY the bane of my existence. but with mobile they're kind of inevitable so...*sigh*

if you read, pleeeaaaaaaase review. even if you're not logged in, just...please. anything.

to be continued.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Ha. Okay. So it seems that in my fit of informality last chapter, I happened to forget the disclaimer. Yes, I know. Scandalous. FORGIVE MEEE

**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own HP. Though I'd be glad to own such a franchise. I mean...ALL THAT MOOLAH BABY

Another thing - for the record, I don't really have a thing for Romione. I just decided on structuring the story this way whenever I started writing it and...well, I'm sticking with it. Whatever.

Have fun reading in italics (it's supposed to be a flashback. sorry it its confusing lmao)

* * *

_They had all finished Hogwarts two years before, all three of them. It was different, of course, drastically so, with the overwhelming casualties which left gaping, colossal voids. One would ocassionally fall into one, and subsequently spend the night racked in uncontrollable sobs, but in about five months or so they reached something that could almost be called normalcy._

_With Professor McGonagall as the new headmaster, new Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Muggle Studies professors were employed. Most of the previous students had returned, except for the few Slytherins who were closely involved in Voldemort's inner circle, Malfoy and Goyle included. They and their families faced serious trials, and even then, returning to Hogwarts was dangerously risky. _

_The Weasley family had recovered fairly well from Fred's tragic death, and the joke shop had thrived splendidly, attracting witches and wizards from around the world. Ron and Harry were well into Auror Training, and Hermione was exploring a career in magical law. Ginny and Luna had just graduated from Hogwarts, eager to start their adult lives._

_He had proposed a few minutes before Harry did, during one of their lively dinners at the Burrow. Her parents were there, wishing to spend some time with the daughter they had not seen for about a year. _

_He had completely surprised her._

_He was most, of the time, completely predictable, and Hermione would later wonder why she had not foreseen it. But, then, in the spur of the moment, it was wonderful, and he was so sincere, so heartfelt, so beautifully him, that she had burst into tears of elation immediately following his speech. _

_"Anything...wrong?" he had asked, looking worried and anxious, as if he had been let out of an important secret. "Is that - that a no?"_

_"Ron!" Ginny had laughed, clearly trying to stifle it, but it leaked through her palm and out between her fingers, bouncing merrily around the room. "You bloody idiot! Of course not, its a -"_

_"Yes!" Hermione had finished for her, her sudden exclamation so passionate and zealous everyone was slightly taken aback. "Yes, yes, yes, yes! Why would I ever say no?!" _

_And with that she threw her arms around him, crying in his hair, and the whole scene exploded then. There was laughter, and song, and a complete and full kind of happiness that filled all of them over the brim. And then Harry proposed to Ginny, and she had a similar reaction, and Hermione could remember the rest of the night in only one word - joy._

_And when they had finally parted, Hermione with her parents, Harry and Ron to their respective flats they were renting in Diagon Alley, they all had looked up - and could only see the stars._

_Their joint wedding was to happen two months later, a humid and heavy Saturday buried in the deep end of August. Planned and set up to imitate Bill and Fleur's, the ethereal, translucent pinkish-white wedding tent was wild and alive in the summer wind._

_Her instincts were fidgeting restlessly that day, at times screaming and shrieking, the terrible sound echoing around her head. Hermione would usually heed these warnings, assets that proved the expertise of her observant and perceptive mind. But, in the bright, yellowish hours of that beloved morning, as she felt twenty nimble fingers sort their way through the knotted and thin mess of hair which fell limply from her head like dying waterfall, she wanted nothing more than to discard her meddlesome tremors and embrace the happiest day of her life. _

_And that she did._

_The day progressed seamlessly, exploding in laughter and tears and the buoyant and giddy feeling of anticipation wrapped right around Hermione's heart. Everything was a surreal and slightly blurry dream - a flash of smoldering burgundy hair, a mischievous, endearing grin framed by round spectacles, kind, familiar hands lovingly stroking her hair, and - the most fleeting of all memories - an ocean, a lake, an endless basin of blue; a blue that somehow shimmered and welcomed the sunlight which so beautifully illuminated its surface; a blue which never ceased to draw her in, leave her senseless for a moment or two._

_His eyes._

_The same eyes which were now boring into hers, drenching the rich chocolate of her eyes in water cool as iced lemonade, refreshing and rejuvenating her in the dry and musky summer heat._

_They stood face to face, hands clenched, a coolness that so matched his eyes now lingering on her fingers, right below the knuckles._

_"The groom may now kiss the bride" - Ron leaned forward ever so slowly - and the moment was suddenly punctuated by his lips on hers and a deafening burst of applause._

_And then glass. _

_That first, she remembered. Shattered into tiny, broken pieces, scattered over the grass and the velvet walkways, alongside the flower girl's petals. Where it had come from, no one knew, but it was there, and it hurt._

_To Hermione, nothing had changed, she still delicately poised on the tips of her toes, eyes closed. The screams were nothing more than part of the commotion, and this was her moment. She would have control over it._

_His voice had yanked her out of her trance. "Hermione! 'Mione, listen to me! Are you alright?"_

_Her eyes fluttered open like a frantic butterfly, and she was unpleasantly pulled into the situation. There was blood, and upturned tables, and people were running, hitching their robes and skirts and fleeing through and out the tent. Spells were being thrown right and left, and the air flashed and crackled with the light of the magic._

_They had somehow departed from the altar and were huddled behind a makeshift barricade, consisting of a table, a few chairs, and a thin, crimson veil draped over the whole thing. "How - what -" she stammered, dumbstruck. "Ron, how -"_

_"A Death Eater attack, I reckon," he muttered darkly. "We shouldn't have let the wedding go public, those bloody Prophet idiots were feasting on it like harpies, th -"_

_"Ron," Hermione gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "My parents - they, your family, Harry, Ginny..."_

_Ron's face noticeably paled at the mention of his family. "Merlin, no. No. I have to go, Hermione -"_

_"I'll come with you," Hermione interrupted breathlessly. _

_"No," he said firmly. "The two of us can't be out there, they'll go after us. Just stay here, run away if something happens. Your wand - you do have it, right?"_  
_Hermione grimaced, cursing herself. "I left it in Ginny's room. There was no place to put it in my gown." She gestured at the intricate layers of gossamer silk that pooled around her feet like a fountain._

_"All the more reason for you to stay here. I'm trusting you - I know you're still the cleverest of us; in fact, I'll be running to you with Auror help when this is over, sometimes we're as clueless as a pile of troll dung, seriously -"_

_"Ron! I'll be fine; its a commotion, they won't find me! I can run back to the house if I need to."_

_They fell silent for a long, pregnant minute. He looked at her seriously, placed a gentle palm on her cheek. "I love you," he whispered, his voice seemingly simple and quiet, but filled with a million things only Hermione could understand._

_"Alright," she murmured, and he turned around, ducked under the tablecloth, and disappeared._

_She was utterly lost for a few, brief moments, low breaths rippling the elegant fabric of her dress. _

_There was a collective scream, one that ripped through the air like a sharpened knife, one of several youngsters. Hermione winced, hating herself, wishing desperately for her wand. She hugged her knees to her chest, trembling fingers fluttering as if she were playing piano. _

_The Order had been tracking the growing group of fugitive Death Eaters. They had grown forgetful and distracted in the months leading up to Ron and Hermione's wedding...and maybe, Hermione thought, maybe if they had stayed on track they could have prevented this._

_It was too late. Too late, the words resonated in her mind, as liquid lead filled her veins, sent shivers up her spine. Too late._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Why am I even putting this here? I have nothing to say.

Oh - except for this.

Angst is beautiful. *winks*

* * *

_She had, miraculously, fallen asleep. The chaos had proceeded mercilessly, and while Hermione had attempted to abandon her hiding place and maybe assist in the fighting, find a spare wand, Ron's words kept her back. He was right, after all, and he loved her. That was without a doubt._

_And even then, the thought filled her heart with a joyful air. The buoyancy had spread throughout her limbs, and fatigued and weary from the countless hours she'd spent crouching, she was lulled into sleep with a smile on her face._

_And now, someone's hands were roughly shaking her to consciousness. "Hermione! Hermione! Is she alright?! Merlin, I...no, she has a pulse!" A relieved, hot breath gathered on her face, and she warily opened her eyes._

_"Where...what...Neville?"_

_"Hermione!" Ginny and Neville's voices chimed together, and Ginny appeared over Neville's shoulder._

_Hermione let out a gasp. Ginny's face was smeared with crimson blood, her own trailing from a deep gash across her forehead. Her arm was oddly twisted, and a battered and bruised body implied usage of the Cruciatus Curse._

_"Yeah, I know," she said, giving a forced smile. "Now I'm all red."_

_Neville, like Hermione, seemed relatively unharmed. His face, though, was weighted down with enormous sorrow. "Thirty-two casualties. Most of the rest are injured."_

_"Thirty-two?!" The number failed to register. Maybe three, or four, or even ten...but thirty-two bodies lying lifeless, scattered and killed carelessly like pests? "Oh my goodness..."_

_Harry rushed into view, taking long, furious strides. "Hermione! Thank Merlin, I was so worried!"_

_"Harry, I'm fine!" Hermione said hurriedly, getting to her feet. "What happened? Ron said it was a Death Eater attack."_

_Harry nodded gravely. "Bellatrix, Greyback, some others, and a lot of new recruits - mostly Voldemort's supporters."_

_Hermione bit her lip, trying to grasp onto the bits of memories drifting in her head. "I fell asleep," she said, flushing with shame. "When did it stop?"_

_"Kingsley and some Aurors arrived an hour ago - by then, most of the new Death Eaters had been Stunned by those of us who fought back. We've restrained the rest of them."_

_"Harry...is everyone alright?" Hermione's body quaked with the mere utterance of the question._

_A small, thankful smile tugged at the edges of Harry's lips. "Yeah, your parents are fine. They helped save a lot of people; they're being honored as heroes. Mr. Weasley was hit with the Confoderes Curse a few times, but he's fine. Some Healers from St. Mungo's are tending to all the injured. Everyone else..." - he counted them off his fingers; the Weasley family, Neville, Luna, Seamus, Dean, some other Hogwarts friends, a few of Hermione's childhood Muggle pals, some acquaintances Ron and Harry made in Auror training, "...is fine. I just wonder where Ron's got to -"_

_"Ron!" Hermione shrieked shrilly, collapsing again. "I can't believe...believe I forgot about him!"_

_"Harry, have you seen him?" Ginny asked anxiously, turning to face her fiancé._

_"I saw him just an hour before Kingsley arrived, and he seemed fine, fit, disarmed a whole lot of Death Eaters..."_

_"I've got to find him!" Hermione's words slurred together as she spit them out as fast as she could, shoving Ginny and Neville aside. "I've got to be sure!"_

_She sprinted down the rough, uneven slope, the reeds ripping hungrily at her gown. "Where is she going?" Harry frowned, tentatively stepping into a swampy puddle to watch her dash into the Weasley home, hitching her skirt high._

_"I think she left her wand in my room," Ginny replied, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ear._

_The three friends patiently waited until the young bride reemerged, and slowly trekked down the hill to meet her._

_"Kingsley was inside, and I asked him to send out a search party," she announced authoritatively, the Hermione-ish control and commanding intelligence ringing in her voice. "They're searching throughout the south and west regions of the swamp in a two kilometer radius, and we are doing the north and east regions. They're tracking any recent Apparations, and another team is out to find any Disillusionment Charms. We are not going to waste time."_

_"Hermione," Harry told her firmly, "we are as determined as you are to find Ron. And believe, he loves you too much to go off and die."_

_Hermione's face fell apart at this, her collected mask breaking at the seams to reveal her raging, inner turmoil._

_Ginny stepped forward, not-so-discreetly glaring at Harry out of the corner of her eye, and took her friend strongly by the hand. "C'mon. Let's all stop sulking and find that gnome ass, shall we?"_

_And so they set off._

* * *

She doesn't realize she has been talking aloud until Draco's deadly calm voice strikes its way into her memories. "And then what, Granger?"

She looks up, and dark golden brown hair is flying into her eyes, giving the world a brilliant, amber veil. Something tight and dangerous, a snake curled tautly onto itself, coiled unyieldingingly, mercilessly, cruelly throttling her insides, is fidgeting slightly inside of her.

It is her false sense of security. The notorious voice, the liar, the one who tells her everything is all right, she is all right. That she's not living in a dream, and it is all right to fall apart at the mere mention of his name, a name that has lost all of its charm and resonance seven years ago.

It is now rapidly unwinding, this stone hard reptile, and it is ripping her apart into a million pieces.

She has never spoken about it to anyone. About how they spent days hiking through the swamps, her tears dripping like tiny raindrops in the mud puddles, lost and desperate. About how she wished someone, God, Merlin, _anyone_, would just tell her he was dead. Because waiting was the worst part of it, the tenacious flames of hope that burned at her heart, his existence dancing in quantum uncertainty.

They haven't yet found the body, but she knows he isn't alive. She can feel his good-bye still echoing throughout every part of her body. It's a relief, to her, to know he's something - either dead or alive.

"They -" she gasps, breathlessly, her eyes watering, "h-he's gone, never found h-him..."

Then she realizes who she is talking to, and the full weight of it slams into her like a five ton wrecking ball. "You...oh, gods, you were allegedly one of the fugitives, you were -"

"_Allegedly!_" Draco yells at her, mortified. "I told you, Mother and I moved to France. Father is in Azkaban!" He looks horribly offended, face stripped bare, revealing utter surprise and disgust.

She simply slumps back into her seat, limp limbs, blank eyes.

"This session is over," Draco spits furiously, and points rigidly to the open doorway.

She breathes heavily, trying to force anger into her gaze, and rushes out of her seat. "Go to hell," she mumbles, quietly, but he still hears.

"Get out!" Draco almost screams, and she heads quickly for the door.

* * *

_Wrecking ball...haha. _

_Okay. I'm done._

_PLEEEEAAAAASSEEEEE REVIEW AND I WILL GIVE YOU APPLES AND CAKE AND FOOD_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Okay, so, short chapter! Yay!

If you're wondering why I'm updating so quickly, its because all of this is already pre-written. I was planning for it to be a one-shot, but it got too long, so...

Just wait a few more chapters where I actually have to write again, and my updates will become A LOT SLOWER HAHA. _Trust _me.

* * *

He rummages wildly through his bag, which has fallen to the floor at his feet. He finally pulls out a delicate, glass bottle, filled to the brim with some kind of liquor, and, after uncapping it, smashes it clumsily to his lips.

For a moment or two, his desperate gulps are the only sound in the room.

He gasps for air and throws the empty bottle across the room. It shatters loudly, mocking him, sharply reminding him that he is losing control again.

Her suspicion still burns in his chest like undoused acid.

He does not know, does not care, what she thinks of his parents. Because his parents were the one who tried to stand tall in front of Draco, for his sake, when turbulent times drove them apart and tumbled them inside out. It was a façade, and he always knew it, but it pained Draco unbearably to think about it.

But the day came when they toppled and teetered and fell, loudly and painfully. Delicate china chess pieces, toyed around and played with, until they lost all balance and cracked, shattered, broken.

He never thought much of Hermione, back in Hogwarts. He was logical and methodical when it came to her, figuring out and pinpointing her weaknesses and strengths, strategically almost, calculating what would hurt her most. Her blood status bothered him slightly, and compelled him to wield even more of his tortuous virulence, but at the end of it all she was merely a character from a storybook to him, plain and flat and ordinary.

He always thought he was superior to her, more capable of inflicting brutality and pain and anguish, which was always what seemed to matter anyway.  
It seems, today, she has proved him wrong.

* * *

She does not want to come back the next week. She is resolute, convincing herself while indulgently serving morsels of hatred to her mind. It is easy to hate him, easy for the feeling to blow through her with red hot ferocity.

It almost works, until the old Muggle cellphone her mother gave her years ago rings insistently in her ear. She frowns, because she knows who it is.  
Loudly snapping the faded pink flip phone open, she hesitates before accepting the call.

"Harry," she grumbles, by way of greeting, not waiting for him to speak first. "I'm not really in the mood."

Harry's sigh crackles through the phone speakers like muffled fireworks, exasperation tinged with edgy irritation. "Hermione, look. You're being so ridiculously predictable; I knew you would go and botch this up somehow, and I knew you would make up your mind to skip this week, and I know you'd say exactly that when I'd call you."

Hermione scowls, readily angried, and is about to end the call until she thinks about what he has said again, and her clever mind comes to attention.

"_What_? So you knew?"

Harry's silence seems to huddle uncertainly in the air, as if intimated by the intense and accusing scrutiny in Hermione's voice.

"You bastard!" she shrieks. "You knew that you were sending me to that _son of a bitch_, that absolutely filthy, no-good pureblood! You knew Dr. Seamus Baulstrade or Bullshit or whatever the hell it is, was bloody fucking Draco Malfoy!"

"Hermione," Harry interrupts smoothly, "I thought he changed. It was an opportunity, I saw, for the both of you, but if you're reacting this way I'm assuming he upset you." He sounds genuinely concerned. "What happened?"

Hermione's mouth opens immediately, and she eagerly prepares to pour out her anguished laments, her vicious complaints of his utmost impudence.  
Only she finds there is nothing to say.

"He...er..." She curses herself for stumbling and hesitating, but it is too late.

"Nothing, eh?" Harry says, and Hermione can feel that unmistakable quirk of the eyebrow that seems to dance through the call. "I thought so. You could have tried, 'Mione."

Hermione drags her hand wearily down her face. "You thought so? You have _this_ much trust in him? And not in me? How do you know, h-he wasn't t-there, when -"

Harry exhales sharply. "He wasn't there. I know it, and the Ministry has records. Hermione, relax, please, and understand. He's not a bad psychiatri -

"Yes, about that," she bounces back vehemently, and Harry knows she is wielding her furiously jagged sword of intellect, aiming to hit him squarely in the face. "Is it really suggested by experts to be in the best interests of the patient to have their mind repaired by a man whom they have had past interactions with, none of which have been remotely pleasant?"

"For most patients, no, maybe," Harry sighs, struggling to find a point. "But I feel it would be good for you. And him.

"Yes?" Hermione spits angrily. "And what is so special about us?"

"I...don't know. But I met him, once, briefly, after the war and everything, and he reminded me of you. He was civil, you know? Polite, a little bit, snarky and arrogant, but not even half-bad. It seemed like you two could have a decent conversantion."

"Never," Hermione snorts, quite convincingly, but inside her heart is pounding against her chest. They did have a decent conversantion, an enjoyable one, in fact, until the tables suddenly turned. She didn't realize it, but it happened, this tentative amiability, and looking back at it, Hermione realizes with heavy and poisonous horror, they almost seemed like good friends reacquainting after a long separation.

Eager to depart from the subject, Hermione tightens her grasp on the phone. "So, how's Ginny? And the kids?"

"Hermione," Harry says sternly, realizing what she is doing, but answers her anyway. "Ginny's fine, still recovering from the pregnancy. The baby - well, Ginny's always going on about how adorable it is -"

"I'm sure," Hermione interjects, managing a smile. "Could you send me a picture?"

"Yeah, later," Harry answers, through the midst of some horrible static; it sounds as though he is shaking the phone. "Oh gods, Hermione, I'm sorry, I have to go. Call you back later?"

"Yeah, of course," she readily agrees, but by then the phone is cut.

Sighing, Hermione sets the phone down, and stares up at her bedroom clock, ticking monotonously. She crosses her legs, pinches her thumbs, shakes her arms. The seconds fail to go by any faster.

* * *

_Yeah, maybe I was pissed when I wrote it? Sorry for the abundant swearing lmao._

_REVIEWWWWWWWW _


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **ermagerd this chapter. It takes OOC to a new level. It callously shoves OOC-ness on a rocket and stuffs shitloads of fuel into said rocket and blasts it into the immeasurably far boundaries of space and time.

CAN I CRY PLZ

So, personally, I hate it when Dramione starts to become romantic this quickly. Its just unrealistic. COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY UNREALISTIC. It's AU - THEY'VE MAGICALLY APPEARED IN OOC-LAND YIPEEEEEEEE

* * *

Nothing really registers, when the frantic, downward glances at his watch finally inform him, yes, it is eleven o' clock. And it is Thursday.

Hermione Granger's next scheduled appointment.

He knows not to expect anything, but he can't help but hover in front of his glass wall behind his seat, which gives a clear view of the driveway leading into his office, obsessively checking for any signs of her.

He saunters into his lobby at ten after eleven, and leans tiredly on his secretary's desk. The secretary is so short she is almost invisible over the circular desk's high walls, but now her fingers, pleasantly chubby and adorned with various rings, snake onto the desk's surface to collide soundly with Draco's elbow.

She stands up, swiftly, scowling. She is awfully good-looking, Draco can't deny, with flowing burgundy hair that is dyed turquoise at the edges, the glare of stones under water. But he hired Samantha, or as she likes to go, Sam, for her fury and spirit, quick wit and ready comebacks. A half-blood, she refrains from magic, preferring manual labor, hard work, sweat and reward. An "old fashioned Muggle wannabe", he often dubs her, but not very often, because Draco knows how hard knuckled her punches can be.

"Don't you have an appointment right now? You should have something scheduled." Jabbing the computer keyboard violently, she peers at the screen. "It should be...Hermione Granger," she says, and her eyes widen as the words roll over her tongue. "_Hermione Granger_? _The_ Hermione Granger? She's one of your patients?"

"Yeah," Draco responds off-handedly, staring off into the empty lobby.

"God, she's in Canada? I heard that she had some problems after, you know, Weasley's death, and you knew her wh -"

Someone clears their throat, rather audibly, from the front, near the sliding doors that are beginning to close shut, a loud and cruel clap of two hands.

Flags of burning color rise in Sam's cheeks as the slim woman announces loudly, "Hermione Granger? I'm here for my appointment."

Draco slowly raises himself from against the desk, muscles tightening. "Granger."

"Sorry I'm late," Hermione offers stiffly, as she sweeps into the room through the open doorway, avoiding Sam's apologetic gaze.

Draco shrugs at Sam, sympathetic, and follows Hermione, closing the door shut behind them.

It is awkward, but not for her. She, almost angrily, slams into her seat, and raises her eyebrow at his slow moving, hesitating form, her cold stare penetrating.

He is getting to his seat when she suddenly blurts, "I'm sorry, alright?" It is rushed, as if forced, but strangely sincere.

He pauses before answering. "Okay," he says. "What changed your mind?"

Her attitude drastically changes, anxiety crawling into her features. "Nothing, just..."

"A talk with Harry?" he supplies, before he can think about what he is saying.

Her eyes widen, the large chocolate orbs rounded out in surprise. "How did you...oh. Together in the scheme, eh?"

He laughs despite himself. "Indeed. Criminals, we are. Send an owl to the Ministry back home, will you, and send them after us?"

"Ha ha ha," she says dryly. "I'm not here for insubstantial banter."

"You could have fooled me," he retorts, crossing his legs. "What are you here for, then?"

She snakes a hand behind her neck, flushing uncomfortably, hotly. "Have you forgotten...the nature of your profession?"

"_Finally,_" Draco exclaims theatrically, throwing his arms out. "It takes you twenty eight years to realize the potency of your mental instability, and you admit it now."

"But I'm twenty eight years ol -" she begins, frowning, and then realizes. "Bloody dickhead." But still, as she leans back and covers her face with her hands, she laughs.

"Alright," Draco begins, when her giggles subside. "You should know that I'm here to help you. I really am very, very sorry about what happened, and on Harry's request, I'm not charging, but in exchange -"

Hermione scowls. "Should have known."

"In exchange," he begins again, glowering at her pointedly, "we must both agree to drop the problems of our past and our childhood differences."  
She blinks quite rapidly, taken aback. "A-alright," she manages, finally. "I'll try."

Draco puts his head in his hands, and stares at her miserably. "I know its hard, with the things I did, but..."

"No, don't worry," and with that Hermione reaches forward, tentatively at first, but with rising confidence as Draco's expressions lightens considerably, and places her hand over his, barely touching.

It's not so much a spark, but a shiver of warmth that excites both of them, stirs their blood, but simultaneously placates their nerves, bringing a rush of pleasure.

Draco blushes; he can feel the heat staining his cheeks, and he wonders wildly why. Is it the proximity? No, that can't be it - he's always had the uncanny ability to remain calmly stoic in uncomfortable or discomfiting situations. Is it the old, familiar prejudice; disgust at a Mudblood's touch? No, just that thought disgusts him; he's gotten over that, he's sure of it.

Hermione fights the instinct to sharply remove her hand, to shove it between her legs and clench it until the feeling dissipates. Not because she does not enjoy it; it is sharp, jolting, energetic, bringing the old but familiar andrenaline back in her veins, but it feels guilty. Wrong.  
She banishes the thought, and any implications, from her mind, quickly. She slips her hand back, nevertheless, and watches his expression fall into disappointment.

"Let's start, then," Draco proclaims jovially, clapping his hands. He effectively dispels the awkwardness that lays heavily in the air, and Hermione inwardly breathes a sigh of relief.

"Okay," Hermione responds, staring at him expectantly, muscles tensing with anticipation.

Draco hums in thought, a lone, slender finger stroking his chin. "I think...we should get to know each other better. Try being friends."

Taken aback, she narrows her eyes. _What?  
_  
"Are you valid, Malfoy, because I believe I have good reason to ask to see your certificate and deg -"

"Right," Draco interrupts, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Why am I surprised. It's the Gryffindor princess and her fucking ginormous brain."

"Malfoy, I'm warning you -"

"Relax, Granger. It's a method I usually use, even with people I do not want to be friends with. Therapy does not entail intricate walk-throughs of various psychological methods. It doesn't work that way."

"I know," she says stubbornly, but the palpable disappointment in her expression suggests otherwise. "But the prospect of friendship with you does not around appealing."

He gasps in mock horror, hand splayed across his chest. "How you break my heart, Granger." He peers at her curiously before changing the subject completely. "What is wrong with you, anyway? You seem as sharp as you used to be."

She flushes crimson in discomfort at the sheer bluntness of his question, at the memories it surfaces in her pained and aching soul. "I just know," she admits honestly. "How broken it is. I can feel it. And its my mind that's the problem; it became so obsessive, so over-analytical, so wary." Her eyes tear uncontrollably as she looks up at Draco. "I space out sometimes, in the hyperactivity of my intellect. I get lost, I lose control, I hallucinate, I over-imagine. It's so...just...unorganized and out of my reach!" She looks as if she is about to burst into sobs, but she realizes what she has just spilled out and slaps her hand over her mouth. "Oh gods. Merlin, did I just...say all that?"

He nods gravely, transfixed in thought on her face.

She sighs, the wetness in her eyes slowly disappearing as she gathers her resolve. "I'll be honest - I-I want to let this go. I'm tired of living with this. And that's why I came here; you know I could have just ignored Harry and rejected any help." She then blushes, again, at this second confession.

"That's only natural," he comforts, and Hermione feels her awkwardness dissipate with the gentle ease of a chilly winter breeze, as his soothing gaze slides like silver caramel over her's. "Now, tell me, Granger." He twists smoothly to reach for the desk placed besides his chair, retrieving the topmost file on it. Flipping it open, he shuffles through the papers as they crisply whisper as his finger's touch.

Hermione catches sight of her photo on the first page and frowns, turning away. Her insecurity had grown, fed by fear and trauma, shortly after Ron's disappearance, and she avoids looking at her reflection, avoids thinking about her physical appearance. Harry must have secretly taken that photo a few months before, at one of his visits.

Draco notices her actions, the tragically beautiful expression of pain on her face, but he says nothing and quickly looks to them ground.

"Tell me about your parents, Granger."

"What?" She sharply turns around to face him, plastering on a smile. "What about them?"

Draco raises his eyebrows. "Anything, everything. What are they like?"

She is obviously hesitating, eyes darting around the room, everywhere but him. "Do I have to answer?"

Draco let's out a long, guttural groan. "Are you _serious_?"

"Okay, okay," Hermione exclaims, now embarrassed. "My parents. As I'm sure you know," and she raises an eyebrow at Draco stoically, "they're Muggles, something that has always managed to capture your attention in school."

Draco sighs. "Why must you always antagonize me?"

Hermione snorts, holding in a bubbly laugh. "I antagonize you? You antagonize yourself."

Draco pouts, prominently sticking his lower lip out. "I used to antagonize myself. I'm a good boy now. May we proceed?"

"Okay, so...Muggles; I think we've got that down. They both were very intelligent. Went to the best dentistry schools."

"_Denrisry_?" Draco asks, looking slightly appalled as his imagination furiously goes to work, offering carnal images of blood and body parts, disliking the harsh and difficult syllables of the word as they roll over his tongue.

"You haven't heard about it?" Hermione says, shocked. "You've attempted to establish yourself in the Muggle world and you don't know what dentistry is?"

She stretches forward and peers closely at his face. The unwavering, confident directness of her gaze unnerves Draco; isn't she supposed to be the patient, seeking aid from him?

"I'm not _you_. I'm not expected to know everything."

To Draco's surprise, Hermione laughs. "Well, let me tell you. Dentistry has to do with the oral cavity. Fixing them, caring for them, -"

"_Boring_," Draco drawls, cutting her off. "Can we continue?"

"They were very intelligent...brilliant, you know. Best in everything."

"Well, yes, that makes sense. Explains you."

A little shocked, Hermione beams in pride. "Oh. Well, thank you."

Draco looks up, and subconsciously finds his own smile at her unexpected blitheness. "It's always been common knowledge, Granger, no need to-"

The door suddenly crashes open with ear-splitting velocity, and both Hermione and Draco jerk out of their seats.

"Holy fu - Sam, what the _hell?_"

The impossibly short woman, planted by the doorway, scowls terribly at Draco. "It's 11:50. _Fucking 11:50_. Gelus is practically strangling me back there. You're five minutes behind schedule; will you get a move on?"

Hermione rushes out of her seat, her cheeks colored, before Draco can even put in a word. "So sorry about that," she apologizes profusely to Sam. "Uh, I'll be going now."

"Granger, wait-" Draco calls, but Hermione is already darting past the doorway.

He sighs heavily, a long and tired exhalation, before slowly pulling himself out of the chair.

And suddenly Hermione is back, almost colliding into Sam as she clutches the door for balance. "Uh, just one more thing," she pants. "Could we move the appointment later in the day? At night, perhaps?"

Draco shrugs and points to Sam. She raises her eyebrows at Hermione in offhand curiosity, though her eyes are still tinged with the embarrassment of her earlier slip. "Uh, sure. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, " Hermione says breathlessly, and once again flies out of the room as if in panic.

Sam turns to face Draco, a knowing smirk hovering on her lips.

Draco returns her gaze with unquestionable innocence. "What?"

* * *

_So...what do you think of Sam? In retrospect, I have no idea why I even put her there. ugh. procrastination = eventual amnesia _

_OKAY I DON'T WANT TO SOUND LIKE A DESPERATE SAD LITTLE PUPPY (EVEN THOUGH I AM ); pleaaaaaaaaaaaase review. If you've favorited or something, i understand that you've acknowledged my work and that's fine, but as a writer i always strive to improve. And you have to understand that reviews are not only important to my self-esteem, but additionally the art I'm working to establish myself in. I NEED FEEDBACK. PLEASE. I _KNOWWWW _I have a TON of grammatical errors. Don't lie to me._

_Okay. I'll stop whining now._


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Wow. Long time, no see.

The last few months were so atrociously busy for me...UGH. As a result, I've been horribly deprived of fanfiction.

I apologize in advance for Sam's obscenity. There has to be at least _one _character in this story who takes off of me, no?

* * *

Hermione returns to the small flat Harry rented out for her feeling oddly at ease, her lips strangely stretched. And it then occurs to her that this was the first time she had smiled so often, so sincerely.

Frowning now, Hermione unlocks the door and tosses the charmed keys that were of her design, conceptualized by her sharp post-Hogwarts mind many years ago, on the living room table. They are designed to be impossible to duplicate and one of a kind, marked original by specific traces of magic.

Sauntering into the kitchen, her stomach growls in desperate then she suddenly halts, feet frozen, and she stares in fixation at what she has just offhandedly discarded.

He was there when she had finally figured out the finishing touches, leaning over her stooped and weary figure with his long, (tastefully so, she thought) crimson locks, it falling into his eyes as he spectated with bemused confusion.

She showed him the final product, keys strewn across her palms as they clinked against her engagement ring, and he set his chin on her shoulder.

"Smartest witch in our year," he had mumbled incoherently, but Hermione understood and smiled at him, leaning forward, aiming to hit his dimpled cheek with her lips.

But he, with lightning quick reflexes derived from years of playing Quidditch, turned his head about 90 degrees so that her lips fell squarely on his.

Instinctively, she melted into the kiss, feeling like easy and flowing heated metal, while the keys slipped out of her hand.

The flashback assaults her mind with a crashing, defeaning blow, and she gasps. She twitches with the sheer pain of remembrance, jerking spasmodically. Her knees buckle.

She crumples, pitifully, to the ground, eyes never wavering from the keys, and she ceases to make any sound.

"Wait!" a small corner of her mind calls desperately, begging for her to latch on to her remaining sanity.

"Ron..."

* * *

"Did you call her?" Draco frowns, leaning impatiently over the desk and curling his fingers over the edge.

The gentle shafts of early morning light fill the room like yellow brushstrokes of paint, illuminating Draco's face.

"Who?" Sam snaps, even though she already has an idea.

Uncomfortably, Draco fingers his collar. "Granger. About her new appointment time?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do that. Relax, Dra -"

"No!" Draco exclaims vehemently, than catches himself. "Er...its imperative that we instill responsibility in your value system, Sam, as my business is...um...partly dependant upon it..."

"Just quit it with your crap, " Sam interrupts irritably, but then she cracks a smile. "You're so damn clueless sometimes." Picking up the phone, she slowly dials in the number, cocking her head while staring Draco in the face with an unmistakable smirk.

Draco scowls. Again.

* * *

Golden and red beams strain viciously against her struggling eyelids, her only barrier against cruel, conscious reality.

Perception is her enemy, a lurid and obscene intruder decked in garishly brilliant attire. The floor beneath her fingertips, the warmth of her own breath against her skin, the strange and stifling sound of silence; she is all too aware.

It has been hours, but she does not feel the time, the stiffness of her joints or the arriving and departing sunlight. It only feels like...death.

And then the telephone rings.

Hermione screams, raucously, painfully.

It fades, resuming the steady and slow silence, then rings again. And again. And again.

Her tired mind echoes with the relentless reverberations, bouncing to and fro from the walls.

* * *

"Maybe she's out." Sam frowns at the telephone, still clutching the receiver.

"But that's her cell," Draco argues, concern worrying his features.

"Maybe she left her cell at home. Chill, Drake. I'll do it later."

"Drake?_ Chill?_ Why don't you go find a beachhouse in California, move in with...what's her name?"

"Katy Perry?" Sam offers, trying and failing at holding in her laugh.

"Yes, _her_ - go do that instead of plaguing me with your moronic language. _What if she's in trouble_?" He turns, swiftly at his heels, and angrily heads for his office.

"Woah there, big boy," Sam calls after him. "Calm your tits."

* * *

"Did she pick up?" The sky is darkening, and Draco grabs his coat fiercely from the rack by the desk, swinging it over his shoulders.

"No," Sam sighs, exasperated. "As I recall, you told me to alert you immediately if it ever happened. I left a voicemail, so don't worry..."

"How many?" Draco inquires sharply.

Sam stares at him as if he are on drugs, which, she thinks, would not such a far-fetched suspicion. Her fluttering lashes are thickly prominent, Draco notices, adding immensely to her condescending demeanor as she splays her fingers out in irritated shock. "_One?!_ Normal people usually leave one, and Draco, the fuck is up with you?"

He doesn't answer, simply swings behind the walls of the desk to stand behind her tiny swivel chair, towering over her small form as he stares into the computer.

"Hey!" Sam jumps in her seat, glaring up at him.

"Where does she live?"

"What!? No, Draco, you're not just going to walk into your client's house unannounced. Do you realize how creepy that is?"

Draco's eyes feverishly scan Hermione's open profile page, quickly locating what he needs.

"Stop!" Sam exclaims furiously, grabbing for the mouse and frantically closing the document, returning to the database's home screen. But she's too late.

Draco strolls out smoothly, armed with the necessary information, buttoning up his coat while heading for the doors.  
"I'm only going to pay an overdue visit to an old friend, Sam. Why don't you just _chill_?"

* * *

_..._

_it seemed longer when i was writing it. D:_

_pleaaaaaaaseeee revieeeeeewwwwwwww_

_i even resorted to vowel elongation. c'mon, guys._


End file.
